


Why Does God Need A Starship?

by Trista_zevkia



Series: Platonic [25]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Hugo Weaving Bashing, Comic Book Science, F/F, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, M/M, Metahumans, Metahumans are DC version of Mutants, Please Don't Hate Me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: Not that he would admit it, but apparently Brucie Wayne can quote Star Trek Movies. A useless bit of trivia, that will never be relevant to anything, and certainly won't lead to broken headboards.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oppach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppach/gifts), [Claw_Animalae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claw_Animalae/gifts).



> Genderswap, so be warned. I use male pronouns even when they are in female bodies, because they are male in their heads. If you have suggestions for how I could be more sensitive on a topic, I will take them into consideration. 
> 
> Gifted to Claw_Animalae and Oppach for some very kind and encouraging words!

A party in Star City was an unexpected place to find Bruce Wayne, if only because of the location, but it wasn't out of character. It was a party to raise money for orphans, and, well, everybody knew why brain damaged Brucie would show up to such a thing. It was a tragedy, what happened to his parents, but strange in a way. Before that night, Brucie went to the best schools and made the best grades, while still being friendly and outgoing. It might be argued that puberty made him stupid, but there was no denying that things changed for Brucie that night.

Most people also knew about Superman, orphan and last member of an entire species. He liked to show up at fundraisers, to encourage people to donate more. Somewhere between showing off and wanting to be good in front of Superman, donations went up when he dropped in. Someone, with a penchant for snark, might have remarked that it was caused by smile blindness, the glint off his perfect teeth blinding people into donating more than they meant to. Said snarky voice could also have spreadsheets to back up these assertions, but Superman knew better than to fight over such things and would let it slide. 

The strange thing was, Superman seemed to make sure he got to talk to Brucie every time they showed up at the same fundraiser. Superman's face was always polite unless he was staring down a crook. So Superman would chat with Brucie for a few moments, and they had witnesses for most of the conversations. Witnesses who were starting to report a strange look in Superman's eye. Something amused and sad, as if not believing this man was real. It was a look people were becoming very familiar with since the 2016 American election, though Superman didn't have that standard squint of despair with the look. 

Occasionally Superman and Brucie could talk without witnesses, such as when all the wait staff seemed to be moving towards the stage. People forced to witness Brucie’s stupidity had to make their way to the open bar instead of waiting on a drink, so nobody knew what Superman was fighting back a smile at, when the lights went out. They came back on before even Superman had a chance to do more than look around, or at least the lights over the musicians did. It was a 10 piece jazz combo on a temporary stage, but instead of a sultry lead singer, a dork was standing there. 

He wore fancy robes with plenty of gold braid, an amateur mix between a dictator and LotR cosplay. The man raised his long, skinny arms and spoke, his voice coming through the speakers. This meant he'd taken the time to hide a mic pack somewhere under his velveteen robes. 

"My devoted disciples, I have come to reward you and bring about a new, glorious age." He brought his boney hands together in a single clap. 

Moving outward from him in a wave, people began to relax. Superman was standing with his arms folded across his chest, but they relaxed, slipping to drop to his sides. Brucie didn't seem to change, but he was probably drunk and high before he'd arrived; he couldn't get much more relaxed without losing the ability to stand. And maybe he was getting close to that point, because his feet widened, into some parody of a fighter's stance, so he didn't relax so much he fell on his pretty face. 

"I recognize that many of you have fallen to the ways of the world, but I am a forgiving god. All I need is a simple show of faith, and you will be in my good graces again." 

Another slow clap, and a second wave of changes. With a touch of magic, the outgoing waves turned male into female, eliciting not much more than a few startled gasps. Superman's bright blue uniform adjusted to accommodate the changes, and Brucie made sure to give Superwoman an appreciative, lustful glance. 

"In this new form, you will work to please me, proving your devotion. Most will be returned to their original form, but one among you will be special enough to bring my seed to life. Bring forth a vessel with which I can reside in the world again, making a new paradise for all." He raised his hands to add emphasis to his statement, as if expecting applause or cries of joy. He did get a response from the quiet crowd, though odds are it wasn't what anybody was expecting. 

"Why does God need a starship?" 

The god turned to glare at fem!Brucie, who was too relaxed to glare back. "What?" 

"You said you needed a vessel. If you are a god, why do you need a baby? Can't you just make a new one from mud or something?" 

"There is nothing wrong with me!" The self-proclaimed god yelled. 

His so-called worshiper raised a single, elegant eyebrow. 

The god wanna-be tried to ignore the eyebrow, and turned his attention to the crowd. "You have toiled in my name, but I bring myself to you. My new vessel will be your act of faith," here he paused to throw a rather smug look at Brucie, "since some of you require proof." 

"Proof?" Brucie questioned. "I though faith was belief in the absence of proof. So if you come back when your old body wears out, waiting for you isn't an act of faith." 

"I am your god and I will not be questioned!" He yelled loud enough that the speakers screeched, but still most people heard Bruce's response. 

"Lousy faith if it can't handle a few questions." 

The self-styled god turned and took a step, only tripping a little on his robe. "You." He pointed dramatically to Superman. "Stop her insolent mouth before my wrath falls on everybody in the room." 

Brucie and Superman exchanged a look, but Superman made no move to interfere with Brucie's ability to talk. 

"No thanks, I'm saving myself for marriage." Brucie shot a flirty smile at stage. 

Glaring now, the godling turned and pointed to one of the wait staff, who were still surrounding the stage. Everybody knew who he was pointing at, since a small red dot appeared on her chest. 

"Does he have a laser pointer up his sleeve?" Brucie asked, in a voice just loud enough for everybody to hear. There were a few laughs but slowly everyone began to relax a little more, in concentric rings away from the stage. 

"You!" The laser pointer was on a woman in the crowd now, "come to me." 

It was an older woman in an evening gown, showing she'd identified as female before the night started, and she smiled up at the goofy god in something like pride. 

"Marry this heretic to a true believer. Use the traditional ceremony so she knows to obey Superman, and when to shut up." 

"A forced marriage is going to do that?" Brucie started. "Look, you, you’re not a god so I'm not calling you that. Can I call you Hugo? I can't tell if you're going for Hugo Weaving in _the Lord of the Rings_ or _Priscilla: Queen of the dessert,_ so I'll just go for Hugo." 

"I am a god!" He yelled, voice painfully loud through the speakers. "My ways are mysterious and you can't fathom them." He turned to yell at the woman. "Marry them!" 

"Dearly beloved," she began. She held her hands out as if holding a small book, and her voice was happy but she knew the words by heart. She paused where their names would go, but continued on without waiting for a response. Brucie was blinking rapidly and frowning, as if thinking deep, esoteric thoughts, but he wasn't protesting. Superman was looking at Brucie with a soft, warm smile on his face. Hugo the god leaned over and tried to communicate something with the woman he’d laser pointed at a few minutes before. The woman running the ceremony let the silence act as confirmation of their pesky 'I do's' and kept going. 

"By the powers invested in me as the Justice of the Peace of Star City, I now pronounce you married." 

The short interval had given the grating god a chance to calm down, and get back on his pre-planned script. "As your god, I will now bless your marriage and make you fruitful. With children to raise, you will find your way back to faith, so that they may be assured of paradise. Come unto me, and show me your offerings." 

"By offering, you mean boobs, right Hugo?" Brucie almost sounded as if he was innocently asking the question. Loosening his tie and popping a few buttons, Brucie looked down his shirt. He gave a small shimmy as if to make sure they were attached, and looked back up. "Why not? I'd like to see how sexy I am." 

Superman made a strange noise and placed protective hands on Brucie's shoulders. Brucie reached up to pat at one before moving away. "You will get to see too, so wait for justice to be done." 

Brucie began to hum, even as he started to unbutton his shirt, and thrust his hips out as he slowly walked towards the stage. The god, for all his claims to god-like powers, stared as if he'd never seen the like. Superman trialed behind, picking up the slowly discarded clothing. 

Brucie's boobs weren't that big, but they moved enticingly under his white cotton undershirt, until that was gone too. Brucie's pants were far too tight on his now rounded hips, and it seemed to be a struggle to get them loose. While he did that, he made a few slow turns so the gobsmacked god got a good gander at his gams, and ass. Mainly the ass. The top of Brucie's pubic mound had just been shown by the slow removal of the pants when Hugo collapsed, unconscious, into the arms of the Martian Manhunter. 

Before Brucie could get his pants back up, much quicker than they came down, Superman was there, tossing a suit jacket over Brucie's naked torso. Brucie relaxed into Superman's arms, resting his back on Superman's chest, as they watched the Justice League take charge. 

As the Martian Manhunter addressed the crowd, Superman leaned forward, pressing his breasts into Brucie's back. He whispered in Brucie's ear, and they began to move backward, out of the crowd. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

"Not that I mind," Bruce spoke as the elevator doors closed. “But don't you think sneaking me off to my hotel room will get you the wrong kind of attention?" 

"I am simply escorting you to your door so you can get dressed. Maybe I'll have to escort you to your bed and peel your clothes off of you to accomplish that goal, one can never tell." 

Bruce snorted. 

"Besides, how can I stand for the American way if I don't want to drag you to the nearest bed after your performance downstairs? Do you harbor a secret desire to be an exotic dancer?" The doors opened, and after a quick look to make sure they were still alone, Bruce answered while leading the way to his hotel room. 

"Hugo turned a room full of people into women with severely lowered inhibitions; it's not a hard deduction that he's horny." The door's keypad beeped and turned green, so Bruce led the way into his suite. Clark closed the door behind them. 

"J'onn gave me a mental download of what he found out before knocking Hugo out, Roger Van Stee, actually." Clark offered. 

"I figured J'onn told you something before you suggested we leave." Bruce pulled a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge, and turned to give Clark his attention. 

"Yes, well, I didn't figure you really were enough of an exhibitionist to do the next bit in public." 

"I am not going to like the next bit." Bruce stated. 

"To be fair, you never like the bits you can't control." 

Bruce gave an agreeing sort of nod. 

"Hugo wasn't actually making the changes. He's metahuman, but his ability is really specific. Apparently, he can make other metas want to use their gifts, but only after he infects them with his saliva." 

"Guy's got a face like a dead fish; how did he get somebody to kiss him the first time so he could figure this out?" 

"Ah, J'onn didn't say." Clark sidestepped around that interesting descriptive phrase. “The wait staff, they were all metas under his control, one calms people, the other lowers inhibitions, one teleported Hugo to the stage, one turns men into women, and so on. The laser pointer up his sleeve? So they would know when to use their talent." 

"Shame he couldn't find a meta with the ability to plan." Bruce rolled his eyes and started to pace in the living area of the suite, gesturing with the water bottle. "What was the thinking here? Turn an entire ballroom of people into drugged females, so he can swap spit with them, find the metas, and add them to his army? Except, that's 450 rich people with bodyguards and other people who keep tabs on them. Plus the staff from the hotel, discounting the entire wait staff by assuming they are under his control, and all of these people are on social media. Even if he narrows it down by some criteria or other, the best looking or one of his metas can tell other metas, he's still got to kiss them. Plus he was talking about fertilization, blessing his followers with babies, which means he planned on having sex with them. So he narrows it down, let's throw out a number, chooses 10 current women he wants to spend more time with. Drags them to a hotel room, while the influence wears off on the other 440 rich people, who start calling the cops, if they haven’t been alerted by 600 body guards and 200 hotel staff. It's stupid." 

"And that sound analysis is why I pulled you out of public before telling you." Clark smiled, knowing most of Bruce's inhibitions related to not showing off his intelligence when not Batman. 

"Ye of little faith." Bruce scoffed. 

"Oh, you think you could have stayed Brucie? Do you know how hard Superman had to resist the impulse to ask, as a reporter, so many questions? Why relaxing and lowering Brucie's inhibitions makes him snarky? I know the answer and I still wanted to ask, to get a quote for the paper." 

"Are you saying getting high only makes you slightly less polite, but still heavily involved in your career?" 

Clark shrugged and looked away, a shy movement very at odds with Superman's costume and presence. "I'm also fighting back an impulse to call you pet names." 

"Keep fighting that." A telling pause after that telling off. "I'm not in Star City just for that fundraiser, and I won't fit into my best suit like this." 

"Yes, well, right, the lack of inhibitions will wear off in a couple of hours, so you can make that appointment. The female thing is, according to J'onn, related to an instantaneous hormonal balance overload. Your chromosomes are still male, so your body creates male hormones, you just need to re-flood the system, or let your body readjust over several days. Or so J'onn extrapolated from what he gathered from Hugo." 

"I doubt that's what god-what-an-idiot Hugo actually thought." 

With a shrug, Clark responded. "He thought sex with another person made it go away." 

"That sound more like Hugo's assessment. And explains a bit of his plan, if I'm translating the moron correctly." 

"What?" Clark asked, having really expected more resistance and complaining from Bruce. 

"Hugo picks a woman from the crowd in a suit, has sex with her, she turns back into a man. Cuts the witnesses down from 450 rich people. All the rich dude-bros who can't handle the short term body dimorphism, slightly drugged, follow Hugo to his hotel room. He can't get it up 225 times in one night, but he can't say that. So he keeps them drugged, fighting for the chance to get fucked by him and returned to normal. They offer him gifts to make him choose them, Hugo get rich and gets laid. Idiots are too embarrassed to press charges. Any metas he finds in the crowd are his to control." 

"Not to sound sexist," Clark hedges, "but that totally sounds like a plan a 13 year-old boy would come up with." 

Bruce shrugs and nods in agreement. "Wonder what the judge has to do with all of this, though." 

"The judge? Do you think she was involved?" 

"Not really, but I made a joke about marriage. Hugo knew the judge on sight, and that she'd be here tonight." 

"Do you want me to go find J'onn and tell him to look into the judge, or, um, help you into your good suit?" 

"She's not a suspect, and J'onn's a good detective." Bruce headed into the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes for Clark to follow as a clue to his answer to Clark’s question. 

Clark followed the clothes, picking them up to at least leave in a nice pile for someone to pick up later. Folding them also gave him the chance to stare at where Bruce was artlessly sprawled on the bed, not even trying for a seductive pose. Why bother? They both knew Clark was a sure thing. Clark also made sure the image was stored in his photographic memory for long-term storage. Superman's uniform folded nicely on top of Bruce's expensive suit. 

Clark floated over so he could brace himself on either side of Bruce's strong thighs. It was very strange to look down and not see a single penis, neither his or the one that was in a similar place of importance in his memory as the photo he'd just imagined taking. He also couldn't tell Bruce's level of arousal by that obvious yardstick, so he'd have to be more creative in making Bruce happy. Clark smiled as he leaned in for a kiss. 

Bruce's skull might be smaller, but he still reacted to Clark's tongue like it was his favorite toy. When Clark felt like his own vaginal passage was getting moist, he moved down, trailing kisses, nibbles and licks down Bruce’s jaw, throat and to a smaller but still well formed chest. They weren't the same muscles that male Bruce had, as they had been reduced to fit on a smaller frame. His scars were all gone, and Clark had a mental image of Bruce in the ballroom. He'd moved his tie and looked down at his chest to see if the scars were gone before starting his striptease. 

His time as Batman had left many marks on him, marks that would be hard to explain even with his extreme sport injuries. It wasn't just forensic experts who could tell a knife wound from a bad scratch while paragliding. There was so much that Bruce had to hide from the world to be effective, to keep his family safe, and sometimes Clark felt the strangest urge to tell the world just how amazing Bruce really was. But Bruce was touching him, smooth hands learning the new curves on Clark's body, and anything else could wait. 

Clark nuzzled his way up a mound of breast until he could play with Bruce's nipples. He licked and teased, and then sucked that nipple into his mouth. He suckled for a bit, and then changed his angle, adding the slightest pressure of his teeth. Missing the little gasps Bruce gave when he did this, Clark moved on to the left nipple for a little while. 

"Huh." Bruce summed up nicely. 

Clark kept the nipple in his mouth but looked up, so Bruce could see him roll his eyes. 

"There are approximately the same number of nerves in the human male and human female chest. Without getting into issues of individual sensitivity, common theory holds that men are more sensitive because the nerves are more concentrated in location, having less of a surface area to cover with the same amount of nerves as a female breast." 

"So your darling boobs keep your perfect nipples from being as sensitive as your beautiful pecs." Clark gave up the nipple to confirm, and was moving downward before Bruce gave a nod. 

He paused to play with Bruce's belly button, and when he finally reached Bruce's pubic mound, he got to know the rounded hips under his hands. He played with the wild pubic hair, so different than Bruce’s preferred tidy manscaping, tickling Bruce to add to his sensations. He was willing to keep at this, until Bruce reacted, so Bruce reacted. He threw his right leg over Clark's should, and pulled. Even as Superwoman, Clark was still stronger than Bruce, so it was mainly a suggestion, but Clark still responded. He moved down, and the angle of Bruce's legs let him start licking his new female anatomy while he kept his hands moving on Bruce's body. 

The natural lube coming out of here tasted like Bruce, though less salty than his ejaculate. Clark was tempted to make a comment about the healthier, less-salt version of Bruce's bodily fluids, but Bruce made a surprised, happy sound. Clark focused on what he'd just done, and repeated it. Bruce made another noise, and Clark dug his nose into Bruce's clitoris to better lick up into his vagina. This way, instead of a burst of ejaculate, Clark got to experience Bruce's desire go from a steady drip into a stream. But Bruce started talking at some point, and Clark forced his attention to the words coming out of Bruce's mouth. 

"Clitoris, Clark, if you can't find it with your x-ray vision than you never get to touch my dick again." 

Even with proof that Bruce didn't have a dick to threaten to withhold literally in front of his face, Clark still took the threat seriously. Using his x-ray vision, he found the confluence of nerves that made up Bruce's g-spot. When one finger fit easily into Bruce's dripping vagina, Clark added a second, his middle finger that was just the right size to rub at that g-spot. Both of Bruce's leg curled around his shoulders now, as Bruce tried to curl into the sensation. With a grin, Clark moved back in to deal with the clitoris. Bruce was moaning now, a delicious background noise that only spurred Clark on. He already felt like he could do this forever. 

"Stop." Batman commanded, and Clark froze, fingers and tongue in mid-movement. A quick listen showed there wasn't anything going on in the room or the hotel that got the Batman out of a blissed out Bruce. 

"Clark, look at me." That was Bruce, voice soft for him. 

Clark obeyed, looking up, unable to stop his tongue from licking at the traces of Bruce on his face. Bruce watched Clark's tongue with a hungry gaze, before he started speaking. 

"Sorry, but I was about to come." Bruce went on before Clark's frown became even more pronounced. "Yes, that's the point, but this might be my only opportunity to try penis vaginal intercourse and not be the one with the penis." Bruce smiled a little bit, a sultry curl to the ends of his lips. "I want to come riding your cock." 

"Anything, sweetheart." Clark moved in for a kiss, but a lack of friction reminded him he couldn't live up to part of that ‘anything’ just yet. 

Bruce used the amazingly filthy kiss to roll them over, so he could spend a few minutes rubbing their breasts together. He went to work on Clark's nipples while his right hand began to play with Clark's clitoris. 

Clark's breasts were no less sensitive than his pectorals, and Bruce enjoyed this fact if the smirk in his eyes was any indication. Clark had no idea how Bruce got his eyes to smirk, but he totally did. And he might have muttered that out loud, because Bruce’s lips were smirking now, but he was also moving down and that promised to be amazing, so Clark grabbed onto the decorative headboard and held on for dear life. 

As he came, the headboard splintered, but something in him slid into place. Clark floated there for as long as he could, in that long moment of perfect, until a noise made him look up. Bruce was standing at the end of the bed with a second water bottle in his hand. The drip of fluid moving down the inside of his leg wasn't water though, and Clark's cock was ready for his turn. Bruce smirked at the sight, and finished about half the bottle. There was no Adam's apple to accentuate the movements of his throat, but it was still Bruce, and Clark's penis was still ready. 

Setting the water bottle on the bedside table, Bruce put his knees on either side of Clark's hips, but kept his distance from Clark's cock. The poor thing tried to get longer in a desperate bid to reach Bruce. Bruce reached down and used his own hands on his own clitoris, putting on a show. Clark bit his lips and forced himself not to blink, watching it all until a drip of fluid feel from Bruce and landed on Clark's cock. Clark's hips surged up, but Bruce only leaned backward. Clark's cock got to brush against the hair he'd tickled earlier, and Clark started begging. 

"Baby, please, darling, look at you, only way you could be more gorgeous was if you let me help you, make you male again. Please, sweetheart, tell me what you want, I'll do anything." 

Bruce replied by pulling his soaking hand out of his body and wiping it on Clark's penis. 

"Diabolical" Clark managed, voice still in the pleading, loving tone he'd begged a moment ago. 

Holding Clark's cock, Bruce re-positioned himself over it. He directed Clark's cock to roll around his outer lips, to nudge up against his clitoris, before he slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to sink, down, taking each and every bit of Clark's cock. Fully seated, Bruce sat and let them feel it. When he was ready, Bruce gave a few hip rolls, and Clark dug his hands into the mattress. A second x-ray helped Clark find his target, so when Bruce started to move he could aim to rub that g-spot. As Bruce road him Clark started rolling his hips up in time to meet Bruce's downs. 

Bruce came, catching them both off guard, his new muscles grasping and pulling on Clark's cock, so Clark came inside Bruce, shouting. Bruce kept himself upright, to watch as his changing body shoved Clark's cock out with a wet splurt. As Bruce let himself fall down to join Clark on the ruined bed, Clark started a giddy laugh. 

"What?" Bruce groused in a voice that he probably made extra deep just because he could. 

"I've been ridden hard and put away wet by a princess." Clark responded, out right giggling now. 

"You're not a saddle, you can go shower." 

"Nah," Clark responded, "I think I'd better wait here to make sure my darling’s inhibitions are back in place before you go to that other event." 

"Guess that will be about the same time you stop wanting to call everybody darling." 

Clark had a few things he wanted to say to that but settled on the one least likely to get him in trouble. "Are there other people in the room? Because I sure don't remember calling J'onn darling." 

"Probably should go down there and find out what's happening." 

"J'onn would have found us he we could help in any way." Clark reasoned, but got a leg shoved off the bed for his trouble. Bruce had already said J’onn was a good detective, a massive compliment from the taciturn man. Making Clark put in an appearance, though, that was to satisfy Bruce’s need to know everything, though he trusted Clark to make an actual assessment. Grinning, Clark got up, and snuck in a forehead kiss before heading to the bathroom. A quick scrub and he was back in his uniform, ready to face the public, even if he’d rather be snuggling with his sweetheart. Or standing with his back to the door and staring at Bruce. Bruce trusted him, and that was as heady a feeling as anything the metas had dished out. 

“Quit looking at me and go find out what happened downstairs.” 

“You’re the once concerned with my reputation, what will I tell anybody who asks where I was?” 

“Kittens, trees, hard to disprove since cats are notoriously unreliable witnesses. You know the drill.” Bruce finished off the last swallow from his water bottle, his Adam’s apple bouncing beautifully. 

After fetching him another water bottle, Clark reluctantly left a naked Bruce in a lavish bed with a destroyed headboard, which, hopefully, this was the kind of hotel that would take Bruce's money to replace it and not tell the gossip columns. Clark took the stairs down to the ballroom level, since he was quicker than any elevator, and went to find a member of the League for an update on what he missed. He tried to sneak into the ballroom, but that really wasn't his specialty. It was because of his commanding presence and not the bright colored outfit he wore, no matter what Bruce said. The press still turned to his bright red cape like bulls to a matador, and there was a modern reporting is bullshit joke in there he wasn't going to think up. 

Putting confidence into his stride, like he meant to steal the press from J'onn, Clark walked up to stand beside J'onn. The press loved this, as J'onn was good for the factual information they needed, but the other League members were better at making stories relatable, or click bait in the modern parlance. 

"Superman!" Gerald Parel called to get his attention. Clark Kent knew these people as coworkers, so Superman had to fight back the urge to call him Gary-Snarry, for his not-so-secret OTP. Huh, maybe Clark should have stayed in the room with Bruce until his inhibitions were back in place. Clark pointed to Gary, to give him the go ahead for his question. (No laser pointer up his sleeve and Gary still knew it was his turn to speak, take that Hugo). 

"Are you going to press charges on the Judge?" 

"Why would I do that?" Clark asked, and turned to J'onn to ask for a telepathic answer. Only the next shouted question had his head snapping back to the reporters. 

"Who did you sleep with tonight?" 

Ok, wow, Teresa was going to find all her Star Wars themed self-stirring mugs had mysteriously quit working. 

"You're male again, so who helped you?" 

Right, Hugo would have told everybody you needed to have sex with another person to change back. He could work with that, say his biology was different. 

"Was it Brucie? Was he any good?" 

"Was it your first time with a man? With a human?" 

"You don't just ask that!" Superman responded in shock and felt his face heat. Superman did not blush. Human, socially awkward Kent might blush, but not Superman. So, therefore, the heat on his face was the building's heaters kicking on. 

"Did you sleep with your husband?" 

Clark stopped. His brain curled into a giant question mark, his face became the facial equivalent of the blue screen of death. This was the exact opposite of the blank floating he'd done after orgasm; there was panic on the other side of the gap. Suddenly, his lips started moving, but he wasn't in control. "I'm sorry, I must have missed something, while I was out (and here Clark realized J'onn was in his brain, controlling his body, and looking for a good excuse as the where Clark had been, so he grabbed the most recent thing) rescuing a kitten from a tree. I'll have to answer your questions another time." 

Across the city, a fire alarm kicked on, restoring Clark's factory settings to rescue mode. He gave J'onn a thankful shove out of his mind, and flew away, so nobody heard him thank Rao for a fire. 

Bruce was not going to murder him, but only because the spouse was always the prime suspect. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Bruce didn't appreciate being left to the wolves, and he wasn't referring to the 'Star City School of How to Avoid Batman's Attention While Expanding into Gotham.' Admittedly, that wasn't what they advertised it as, but he'd had to look into it when enough people started trying to do the same avoidance techniques. Clearly, the best way to deal with those entrepreneurs was to shut off their electricity, remove the instructors without being seen by the students, leave a baterang in a strategically placed shaft of moonlight, and turn the lights back on just as the police showed up to arrest the instructors. It'd been a while since Batman had to be that sneaky, so it was a good exercise and not something he did for fun, Clark. 

Brucie had emerged from his hotel room about noon the next day, having a 2 pm flight back home. Yes, private plane, but the FAA still liked schedules, security checks and flight-plans, Stark. 

This was where the wolves came into it, as there was a pack of reporters waiting for him in the lobby. As much as he hated it, Bruce did actually need to sleep. The news had played in the background as he packed and dressed, but they hadn't talked about the things the reporters were asking about. He'd have thought Superman and Martian Manhunter had put this to rest last night, or at least called him to say they hadn't. 

"Brucie, how was Superman in bed?" 

"Who turned male first? How did that change what you were doing?" 

"Did you have sex after you were both male again?" 

"What does Superman taste like?" 

Bruce considered the questions and tried to imagine any version of Clark answering them, and the interesting colors he would turn while doing so. With an internal sigh, he held up his hands for silence and plastered on a Brucie smile. 

"You guys know I've never been one to kiss and tell. Heavily suggest, oh yes, because some people deserve praise for what they do in the dark. But you don't get details from me." 

"You're male again so you had sex with somebody, and you were married by a Justice of the Peace to Superman. What are we supposed to think?" 

"Let me ask you reporters a question." Bruce made sure all of the reporters were looking, and a few bystanders with their phones out. "Which would be more damaging to Superman's reputation, that he had sex with a male spouse or that he cheated on his male spouse to have hetero-normative sex? Superman's an amazing person, probably one of the few pure, good people left in the world. Would you want to be the one who tarnishes that?" 

That seemed to shut them up, at least long enough for Bruce to get between them and the door. 

"Are you going to divorce Superman?" Someone called, and Bruce turned back to give them a half smile, half leer. 

"I'm only human. I'm not selfless enough to give up on the chance to get to know Superman. Now, if you try really hard, you might convince the hotel to let you get pictures of the headboard I've just paid to have replaced." With that, Bruce was out the door and getting into his ride. The press pack fought impulses to ask more questions or to find out about the headboard, so Bruce was safe for the moment. He then sent a very detailed text to Alfred. Including where to find pictures of blushing Clark on the computers in the Batcave. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

The bakery box arrived on Clark's desk the next Monday, a dreary morning that promised a dull week. The bakery box wasn't branded, but immediately got the attention of everyone on the floor. Clark was good at sharing. Kent was working on a follow-up piece, about Judge Sara Van Stee, and the lengths her step-son would go to in trying to convince her he’d be okay if he’d dropped out of college. Since he’d been arrested Friday night while pretending to be a god in front of his stepmom, he seemed to have lost that argument. For some reason, Clark kept typing the man’s name as Hugo Van Stee instead of Robert. He gladly put that aside to sign for his delivery. 

Opening the box, Clark's eyes slid shut as he breathed in the scent of expertly made buttercream frosting. The top tier of the three tier cake was a light pink, the bottom tier was a dusky rose. Clear green sugar drops, like bright emeralds, decorated the edges of the tiers. Clark carried the cake to the break room before letting anybody else see it, which allowed his blush to calm down enough to only match the light pink of the top layer. Cutting into each layer, Clark could see the top tier was yellow cake with added food coloring so it was a shade between the icing of the top layer and the second tier. The second tier was strawberry cake, again a color between the shades of frosting, and the third was red velvet. 

Realizing what he was looking at, Clark blushed again, now matching the cake of the second tier. Clark made up a lie about having done something nice for a bakery, but no one asked; free cake on a Monday. Clark took his three small pieces and enjoyed them with colorful cheeks, a shy smile, and a wistful look in his eyes. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
